Keeps Me on My Toes
by lovesickjily
Summary: James was quite against taking his sister to her dance classes, but one look at her ballet instructor has him wanting to do pirouettes everywhere he goes.
1. the barre

When James Potter said he wanted to drive, he didn't mean it like _this_.

He'd gotten a car at 15, despite not having a license, simply because his mother wanted him to falsely believe that he had _power_ at such a young age, to show off to all his peers that he was superior in the sense that he had a car and they didn't. The drawback that he _didn't_ know at that time was that he wasn't getting a license any time soon, nor was anyone going to even show him the basics of driving. Euphemia Potter knew how to keep her son level-handed as much as she possibly could.

What was the point in getting a car, even if it was _any_ car he chose, if he couldn't even _drive_ it? That was the point of a car, to take one to the destination that they wanted. It was like holding a piece of meat in front of a dog and pulling it away as soon as they got close enough to nearly _taste_ it. James would have even rathered to get a dingy little car, whose previous owner would have called it something ugly, like Bertha— no offence to anyone walking around the earth with such a name—, so long as he got to drive around in it as much as he wished.

Maybe it was the spoiled little kid in him that was forcing him to have such a mindset, but he liked to think that it was his inner teenage rebel, who had dreams of freedom and the occasional thoughts of the sweet release of death. This _was_ the 21st century after all, where jokes about death were commonplace.

And now, three years later, when he'd _finally_ gotten his license, he'd expected to go on four annual road trips with his best mates and take them around the country because he could at last drive, but in reality? The only times he'd been allowed to take his car, which had not yet been named because he hadn't found any inspiration yet, were for trips to the grocery store, running errands for his parents, and, now, as of late, taking his little sister to her dance classes because their parents had a business meeting to attend to out of the country.

Really, he was stoked to finally be able to take his sweet Bentley out for fresh air, after having rotted inside of his garage for nearly three years, but he couldn't help but admit his disappointment for the entire ordeal. It was like being excited for a ride on a roller coaster, except the roller coaster didn't drop as high as he'd thought it would, and the higher it dropped, the better.

Amelia, his sister, had expressed a desire for dancing when she was younger, probably since James had been _her_ current age, and their mother would _not_ let a passion like that get tossed in the bin. James knew that all too well, having taken crochet classes when he was younger because he'd stumbled upon her doing it one day, and who knew how interesting it was to arrange threads in such a manner that they'd create an entire item of their own? He still had a scarf that he'd knitted hanging somewhere in his room because he'd been so proud of it.

He loved his little sister with all of his heart, really, he did, but if his plan that he'd concocted went accordingly, then he'd be able to finally put his sweet car to proper use, instead of _just_ as the ticket to the grocery store, because eventually, the sight of the watermelons set up on display got sickening after twenty visits.

On the very first day, the first of many he believed to be the ticket to _freedom_ , even if just for three hours, he'd been weighed down with the accumulating pressures of _school_ , only ever increasing by the days as the school year nearly came to an end. It wasn't exactly the actual schoolwork, per say, because he was top of the class, but the _amount_ of it. It probably would have been smart of him to instead _do_ his work, but where was the fun in that? Sleep was for the weak, and Euphemia Potter did _not_ raise him to be weak.

Nope, not at all.

Physical strength? He had loads of that. Emotional strength? He could easily bounce back from a horrible situation.

And now, as they sat in the comfort of his car, with Amelia chattering on about what the gossip going on at school— James _lived_ for that drama, tea he'd happily sip because he was quite interested in the love life of his 12-year-old sister's classmates— he pushed his gear shift to reverse as they pulled out of the driveway.

"Luca says that he fancies Phoebe, but it doesn't make sense at all, because then why would he buy flowers for Georgia?"

"Doesn't Georgia fancy Caleb? And Phoebe fancies Luca, doesn't she?" James said, and Amelia nodded frantically at him.

"Why do boys go around playing with hearts like that? It doesn't make sense at _all,_ James."

"As a member of said gender, I take slight offence to that—"

"It's true," she sniffed, before quickly adding, "Except for you, James. You're the best, lamest brother _ever_. Plus you can't go around breaking hearts, because you don't ever get a girlfriend."

"I can't believe you can easily insult _and_ compliment someone simultaneously in one sentence," he said, shaking his head in amusement, "As for the girlfriend bit? I've had girlfriends before."

"Not for too long, though."

I'd like to argue that I've yet to meet someone who's caught my eye."

"Maybe it's because you have terrible vision."

"Oi, insult me one more time and I'll throw you out the car."

"I'll tell Mum."

"You _wouldn't_."

"I _would_."

"You have no remorse for a poor bloke like me," he sighed, "But if you do tell Mum, I'll just drive away on Esmeralda here."

"You chose _Esmeralda? When_?"

About three seconds ago, he'd wager, because it just came out so _naturally_ , and if it was an unconscious decision to call his car by that name, then it was settled. Her name was Esmeralda.

"Yes, is there a _problem_ , Amelia Grace Potter?"

"I can't say anything, because then I'll be thrown out of your car, and I really like these seats."

"You'd better bloody— don't tell Mum I said that to you— like them. Esmeralda doesn't take kindly to insults," he said, patting the piano black of the armrest without taking his eyes off of the road, because a car accident was _not_ in his agenda, not today, not _ever._

He heard her pushing some of the buttons, and his eyes flickered over to her small form as she adjusted her seat back, her eyes widened in wonder. The navigation system on his phone prompted him to turn left, and so he did.

"This car is so cool."

"I know. Fifteen-year-old me had fantastic taste," he replied, turning his head towards her suddenly, "Oi, why the sudden interest in Esmeralda? Not trying to impress a bloke with her, are you?"

"No, they're all stupid, and I'm loads better than them. That's why there's so many lining up for me."

"You're full of yourself, 'Melia, but you know, if a bloke ever gives you trouble, you've got to let me know. Don't hide it from me."

"Duh," she said, matter-of-factly, and he smiled at her, leaning over to ruffle her wavy hair, now pulled up into a bun— hair that had been fortunately _not_ been blessed with their father's own messy hair, and thank _fuck_ for that, because she took her vanity very seriously. "James! I spent a long time fixing my hair!"

"It'll get messed up when you're dancing, anyway," he said, waving it off, and after they had pulled up into the lot of the dance studio, he locked the doors, a signal that his sister should know _very_ clearly that he wasn't quite done with the conversation. "All right, so I'll bring you into the studio to check you in and all, and when that's over with, I'm going to dash and do my own thing until it's time for me to pick you up—"

"You want me to tell Mum that you were with me the entire time?" she finished for him.

"Please?"

"She's going to find out."

"Obviously, yeah, but at that point, at least I'll have put Esmeralda to great use."

She stared at him in contemplation, her brown eyes revealing the cogs shifting in her brain as he waited on her answer. "Okay, fine," she said finally, and James let out a breath that he'd been holding.

"You'll do it?"

"Only if you let me drive one time."

" _No_. No way. Abso-fucking-lutely _not_."

Her brown eyes pierced into his as she pulled out her phone, making a rather large emphasis of pulling up their mother's number up. "Your last chance."

"FIne. Only once. And only if it's in a parking lot and I'm sitting beside you."

"Deal," she grinned at him, slipping her phone back into her pocket. He rolled his eyes at her, to which she responded with a "Love you."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, unlocking his car, and they strolled into the studio, his keys jangling from his hands.

And he was going to go through with his plan, his carefully-devised plan that he knew his mother would find the true nature of within the week, but of course, life never followed the script that he'd crafted moments before a scene was to unfold.

He looked quite of place among all of the supportive mothers who looked as if they could form a league of Pinterest boards to end all Pinterest boards. He had a feeling that iif he were to attempt to join in on their motherly conversations, he'd either be accepted with welcoming arms or be scorned at because he didn't sport expensive department store perfume and an equally expensive bag. Knowing him, it'd be the latter that would win out. He was _not_ one to bother with these kinds of women.

Amelia had left him— the _traitor_ — to join her group of friends, most likely to continue their conversation about the blokes they— as in, her friends and _not_ herself— fancied and whatnot, and he'd nearly begun to turn around when he'd noticed them giggling and looking in _his_ direction. He chose not to pay any mind to it, but then they _walked_ over to him, Amelia trailing behind them with an apologetic look on her face.

"Hi! You're Amelia's brother?" a blonde asked him.

"Yeah, hullo—"

"She didn't tell us you were so _fit_ ," the other one cut in, and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise, because he did _not_ in any way expect to be chatted up by 12 year olds. It made him feel like a creep, even if he _didn't_ have any intentions to divulge them.

"Right, but I don't think Amelia would ever willingly talk highly of me like that, not unless she's being held at gunpoint."

"You're making him uncomfortable, Phoebe," Amelia insisted, tugging on the brunette's arm, "And besides, he doesn't _like_ girls."

"That's a reach, Amelia—"

"It's okay! I already like Luca, and your brother is too old for me."

"Yeah, he's too old," the blonde agreed, "I think he'd be a good match for Lily, though."

"Lily? I don't see it," Amelia repeated in surprise, and James nodded in agreement, not knowing who this _Lily_ was, as she'd never been mentioned in any of Amelia's gossip talks. Perhaps she was a sweet little girl, who didn't concern herself with petty drama, James thought, but then Amelia opened her mouth again, finishing her thought. "Lily's _loads_ too pretty for him."

James let out a strangled noise of defeat. He really couldn't win in this argument against _12-year-olds._ He made a great deal of jangling his car keys to show that _he_ was superior in the sense that he was _older_ , more _experienced_ with life, _wiser._ "Right, I love partaking in your little gossip bubble you've got going on, but I've got things to do, places to go, _women to meet_."

"He's lying. The only woman in his life is our mum," Amelia said as he turned away. At times like that, he just wanted to _strangle_ her, but more of in a love-hate manner, not because he really wanted to murder her. He loved her far too much for that, and he was a _true_ pacifist.

He started towards the door, and, just as he reached for the knob, the door was flung open, and he found himself face-to-face with the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen. It was almost as if time had stopped and the universe felt pity for the lack of women in his life, deciding that it should end his misery— or add on to his only-ever increasing misery, which made far more sense as far as James was concerned— by introducing _her_ to his life.

Her shockingly green eyes were slightly widened at his sudden appearance in front of her, and her lips were parted open— lips that looked _so_ kissable that it should have been illegal for him to be harbouring such a thought for a complete stranger. He didn't even get to her _hair_ pulled up into a tight, professional bun, a dark, deep red that was the color of the leaves during fall and— did he mention her eyes?

She seemed to have recovered quickly from their sudden meeting before he did, and she offered him a friendly smile, the corners of her pretty lips curving up at _just_ the slightest. "You're not here for dance practice, are you? Only I'm afraid that this class is quite out of your age range."

James could have fallen over from _just_ her words. Oh, the _wit_. He was a _sucker_ for banter.

Unfortunately, his mouth was _not_ on his side, and he ended up blubbering like a fish out of water.

"Yes— _shit_ — no, I mean—" he started, and she didn't even _laugh_ like he'd expected she would _,_ only staring at him with those curious eyes of hers, "Sorry, I'm more articulate than this, _swear_. I just came to drop off my little sister, Amelia."

"Amelia? Oh, she's a lovely girl," she said, but then she tilted her head in confusion, "Only, usually your mum brings her here and back. Is she all right, your mum?"

"Mum's healthy as ever. I've started to bring Amelia because I've finally gotten my license, and my parents are off in America for a business trip for the entire week."

"Then, that Bentley outside is yours? I've never seen it around before, and none of the mothers here have been bragging about getting a fancy new car."

"Seems you already know the answer to that."

"Not to mention the fact that I already know full-well of how lavish your family lives."

He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I try not to make too big of a deal about it. We donate to loads of charities and have a lot of our own organizations, plus we give a lot to the studio, so it's not like we selfishly sip expensive champagne and laugh at the lower class."

"Oh, no, I wasn't trying to—"

"I know," he said, smiling at her, and she tucked her stray hairs behind her ears, returning the gesture.

"So you're James, then? Not to sound like a stalker or anything, only your mum brings you up a lot when we talk."

"Yeah, I reckon that'd be me."

"Lily," she replied, her lips quirking upwards as she held out a hand for him to shake, but the name rung out quickly in his head, because _this_ was Lily. _This_ was the person who Amelia's friends thought would make a good match for him, who Amelia had suddenly dismissed as being out of his range, and he'd _agreed_ because he thought she'd be one of her little friends, not _this_ beautiful being who had obviously ascended from the heavens above.

Amelia didn't think they'd make a good match?

He couldn't trust her judgment anymore.

He'd been staring for too long, and she took it as disgust, or resent, or some other negative feeling, because she nodded stiffly, placing her hand back at her side. "Right. Okay."

She'd begun to walk away, when he'd registered the implications of his actions and ran in front of her. "No, wait!" She stopped in her tracks and stared at him as he took her hand in his, shaking it frantically. "I was— It's a pleasure to meet you, Lily. I— sorry if I came off as rude. It's just, I was… nevermind, it doesn't matter."

"You're sweet," she smiled, "Listen, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've really got to teach the class. I'll see you again, won't I?"

"'Course." She beamed at him, an action that sent his heart soaring into the third dimension, if it hadn't already gone off into the clouds when they'd first made eye contact, and she turned towards the girls, _completely_ unaware of the effect she had on his poor little heart.

He should have walked out, should have gone to the movie theater down the street from the place, or to the arcade that had just recently opened, or _anywhere_ so as to not raise suspicion. He knew all too well that once Amelia, his mother, and Sirius found out about his infatuation for the redhead that they'd all take the mickey out of him, if Amelia didn't already notice the googly-eyes he had been making towards Lily as soon as she'd walked in through the door.

But, like the idiot that he was, he was willing to take whatever was to be thrown at him, because he was surely not going to miss out on catching glimpses of the pretty woman— and he meant it in the least creepiest way. _Swear._

They'd begun with warm-ups first, and James knew that they were stretching and doing all sorts of exercises, the athletic and football-captain side of him being all too familiar with such. Obviously, there routines were ones James had no idea of, but since Lily had made a great deal out of stretching— for obvious reasons— he assumed that these methods would help increase flexibility. He was _not_ going to say that he was staring at certain features of the redhead being displayed for him. He was most definitely _not_ staring at her lovely arse.

Three long hours of her lovely arse, and her lovely face, and her lovely voice, and lovely smile and—

 _Fuck._

He had to be the biggest idiot known to man, because he'd just made this poor, sweet woman into his victim of some sort, and he'd gone on to taking the creepy route by _staring_ at her while she taught a class of kids. Oh, what would his mother say now if she knew? Probably run him over with his car.

And despite that, he still continued to watch the class. She was so _sweet_ and patient, so willing to help if someone didn't exactly get the move, and she'd go through the movement in full detail, counting the intervals and miming the steps. She looked graceful in her demonstrations and enthusiastic when her pupils landed a move, clapping her hands and congratulating them.

Amelia had looked in his direction a few times, shooting him a knowing look but not saying anything— at least, not yet, anyway—, but she'd quickly returned to her class, because she had more important things to do than take the mickey out of her brother. The latter was a priority, but the former was higher on such a list at the present moment.

They'd gone on _very brief_ breaks— three, to be exact— and they'd all turned out to be missed opportunities to talk to the redhead, because with twenty-two students in the room, she was bound to end up talking to at least _one_ of the girls in those periods. Seeing as how he didn't know anyone, save for his sister and Lily— and he didn't even _know_ her all that well— he had to stand awkwardly to the side, because his sister had far better options to engage in conversation with.

Perhaps she'd taken pity on him, but then Lily had approached him, a small smile on her face as class ended. "You haven't left," she observed.

"I've got to support my little sister. I'd like the recognition as World's Best Brother, see."

"Is that why you've been staring at my arse the entire time?" she asked, and he felt his face growing hot at the sheer embarrassment of having been caught. It was an ugly blush that he had, not even wanting to call it a blush because he felt as if he'd been reduced to having a prepubescent crush, where it started at the base of his neck and grew upwards until it consumed all of his face in red.

He was caught red-handed.

And it wasn't as if he was being subtle about it. He was the only person in the room who _wasn't_ there for practice, and there were _mirrors_ littering the place, so the chances of her catching him on one of the many reflections wasn't all that low. Granted, he'd been pretending to be on his _phone_ the entire time, and one would have to have been looking his way to have noticed. If Lily had noticed, then— _Yes!_ He could come up with a diversion to avert the fact that he _was_ in fact staring.

"The fact that you've noticed means that you've been staring at _me_ the entire time as well."

Got her.

"That's quite presumptuous and arrogant of you to accuse me of such a fact."

"But I'm right."

"In saying that I've been staring, you're also admitting that _you've_ been staring as well."

Got _him_ , more like. "Shit— I, you got me, all right? I'm sorry. I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable. Look, if it helps, I'll walk out right now and never step foot in this establishment ever again, and I'll leave right away as soon as I drop my sister off every day—"

"Hey, it's all right," she laughed, "I've got an _amazing_ arse, and I'll let it slide, only because you're pretty."

"Pretty? I've been told by 12-year-olds that I'm not pretty enough for you."

"And what do they know? I've got _much_ better eyes for the finer things in life, and besides," she started, her eyes flickering towards the group of girls in the other side of the room and lowering her voice, "It's not as if _I_ wasn't staring at _your arse_."

He'd nearly fallen to the ground at her admission, but somehow, he'd retained the ability to maintain his cool composure, thankfully. Maybe it was watching all of the practising that had allowed for his nimbleness, or maybe his body had taken pity on him just as the universe had.

"Mine? Yeah, I reckon they're quite firm. I'd grope myself, too, just to prove a point, only I don't think that'd leave a good impression on the girls in here. Just a hunch."

"I think I'll have to test that for myself sometime, as well."

"You're right. Equality and all that, right?"

She smiled at him. "Right."

"What I'm about to say next, promise you won't take offence to it?"

"It depends on what you're about to say," she replied, and he nodded, "But, I have a feeling that I wouldn't have taken offence anyway. We've both established that we've got great arses to each other."

"Great. You look a bit young to be a dancing instructor, and so you've either hit the genetics jackpot when it comes to age and beauty, _or—"_

" _Or,"_ she replied, unable to stop the smile that was threatening to form on her face, "I'm only 18, and I'm filling in for an instructor because she's on maternity leave."

"It's definitely the first one, you old lady," he said, and she laughed out of those pretty lips that formed the foundation of her smile. "How long have you been dancing?"

"This is such a cliche, but I've been doing it my entire life."

"Ah, no, my sister's the same, except obviously you're more experienced and all. But, if you're 18 like me, then how come I haven't seen you at school? There's just the one in our immediate area."

"Oh, I've been homeschooled for about as long as I've been dancing. My parents can't afford to pay for both, and they're really supportive people, so they've let take on my passion for it."

"Must be bloody nice," he said, "No homework to worry about."

"I suppose that's one perk I've never really thought about, but it's all work from home, so I guess it's the same?"

"Technicalities," he waved it off, "It's nice of your people to let you put your passions first."

"It is, isn't it?" she agreed, "Obviously I still prioritize school, of course. It'd be a shame if I just let dancing define me."

"Wait, you're telling me that your _only_ purpose isn't to dance? _What_? A _shocker_ , that."

" _God_ , sarcastic or not, I'd _much_ prefer a bloke think that my purpose is to dance rather than to have sex with them."

"Shit, blokes with that sort of mentality are disgusting. I'm sorry, Lily."

"For what?" she asked.

"Sorry that there are men roaming this planet thinking that the only reason women— wonderful, amazing, bloody cool women— have graced their undeserving selves with their presence for _sex_. It's— women are fucking _awesome_. Like, you could push an entire child out, but I'll bloody cry if I get so much of a paper cut."

"Well, to be fair," she started, bashfully tucking her hair behind her ears, some strands falling out despite the fact that she'd put it up, "Paper cuts are really painful."

"That's a really shit argument."

"It is, but it's because I agree that us women are amazing."

"I also concur."

Her lips quirked up for possibly the millionth time because of his doing. _His_ doing. He deserved a pat on the back for being able to bring a smile to her face, even if her beauty had rendered him physically incapable of witty banter. "You've said that."

"Makes more room for emphasis," he shrugged.

"But, I'm sure you're fully aware that there's men out there who are just as great."

"I know. I'm right here."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled in spite of herself. "Do you pride yourself in complimenting yourself?"

"Right, how could I be so selfish as to compliment _only_ myself?" he responded, leaning down so that their faces were merely inches apart, and _god_ , her eyes shined even more when he was up closer to her. "You're beautiful. No ulterior motive or anything."

"None?"

"Nope."

"That's unfortunate."

"Oh. Why is that?"

She made a great deal of checking the time on her wrist, despite the fact that there was no _watch_ present, and she beamed up at him. "Looks like I've got to go."

With that, she gave him a pat on his arm, appearing as calm as ever while James's own traitorous heart rammed against his ribcage, wanting to get as close as it possibly could to the redhead, who had picked back up on her lesson. He patted his heart sympathetically, because he too wanted to be close to her.

He wanted her to come back, to fully explain to him what exactly was 'unfortunate', because even though he had a vague idea of what it would be— or, at least a vague idea of what he _wanted_ it to be— he wanted to hear it from _her_ mouth. He was a human who constantly needed reassurance and confirmation, after all.

He couldn't even approach her to seek an answer, because the fancy mothers of the girls had arrived to pick them up, which, of course meant time to start up conversation with the redhead. He couldn't even stop to wait his turn, because he couldn't very well keep Amelia waiting. That was far too selfish of him, and he knew that she was tired from all the hard work she'd put in that day.

He was a good brother, and he wasn't going to do that to his little sister.

Of course, any of his charitable actions were _not_ returned, because as soon as he'd started up the car, Amelia had immediately bombarded him with that infamous line that he'd been expecting from her since the beginning of class. "You like Lily, don't you?"

"Please refrain from talking to the driver. It serves as a distraction and may very well lead to vehicular homicide," he said, pulling out of the parking space and onto the road.

"What? We _always_ talk in the car together, Big Brother."

"Yeah, well, that was _before_ I stressed the importance of safety when driving."

"You make sure I have my seatbelt on at least three times before you start driving," she pointed out, and he cursed whatever was in charge of the gene pool for the Potter family, because she was much too smart for her own good.

"I'm stressing it even more now. Road rage is all the rage nowadays, it seems."

"You were staring at her the entire time."

"Who? The road? I didn't realize we were gendering inanimate objects now."

" _Lily_."

"What about her?"

"You fancy her, right?"

"Now where would you get such a ridiculous idea from? Swear, 'Melia, you've been watching too many of those romance movies."

"Then why, Big Brother, did you stay back?"

"To love and support you wherever you go. I'm going to uni soon, and I won't be able to see my favourite sister for much longer."

"I'm your _only_ sister, and gross."

" _Gross?_ I'll have you know, Amelia Grace, that there is _nothing_ disgusting about my brotherly love for you."

"Whatever," Amelia said, and he was able to relax for a quick second, thinking that she'd dropped the matter. He was, of course, a fool for assuming such a thing. "Lily's really pretty."

"She is, isn't she?" he agreed, nearly melting at just the _thought_ of her and her pretty green eyes, but then he'd nearly slammed on the brakes at the fact that _that_ was _exactly_ what his sister had been trying to get him to admit. "Shit, buggering _fuck_."

Amelia merely looked out the front window in victory, a smug expression on her face. "I knew it."

"Oi, I can acknowledge someone's beauty and _not_ fancy them."

"Is that the case with Sirius?" she asked sweetly.

"You really want me to force you out of the car, do you?"

"You say that all the time, but it never happens."

"First for everything," he said, and he pulled off to the side of the road. He was most definitely _not_ going to kick her out, but his flair for the dramatics had gotten the best of him. "Out."

"No."

"Yes."

" _No_ ," she insisted, "You'd never do that to me."

"I'm doing it now, aren't I?"

"Not really. You're not pushing me out or anything."

"I'm not trying to hurt you."

"You're not trying to get me out, either."

"Thank you for complying with my wishes," he said dryly, pushing the gas as he pulled back onto the road.

"You and Lily would make a cute couple."

"You think?" he inquired, his eyes darting towards his sister momentarily.

"Yeah. You two were smiling the entire time you talked, and I've never seen you smile so much. It makes me happy to see you so happy like that, Big Brother."

"Didn't you say you didn't see us together like that?"

"I can't just compliment you like that in front of my friends!" she insisted, "I've got to rib you. It's an unspoken rule between siblings. Also, that was _before_ I saw you two together."

"Right, so I think it's safe to assume that we'll be the talk of your little preteen gossip."

"Oh, you already are."

"I'm flattered," he deadpanned.

"You should be. You haven't had a girlfriend in a long time."

"Thank you for pointing that out, _Mum."_

"I think that's going to change soon."

"Shit, it'd better."

They pulled up into the driveway of their house not too long after, and James was currently drowning himself in his coursework, the obvious reason being because he was a good student, and the other reason being that he wanted to get a certain redhead out of his head before his thoughts escalated into something perverse.

He was about to finish on his literature essay that wasn't even due until the next week, but then Amelia knocked at his door, having learned her lesson when she'd nearly— _nearly_ — walked in on him being a normal teenage boy doing normal teenage things, and he'd yelled at her a great deal for it. "James, could you look over my homework?"

"'Course, 'Melia."

She smiled at him, climbing up his bed and perching at the very edge, dangling her legs as his eyes skimmed over her math, remembering when life was as simple as solving basic little equations. He'd almost sighed at how peaceful the scene was, that was, until Amelia, who was one to always speak her mind, opened her mouth. "So you _do_ fancy Lily?"

"God, I can't wait until _you_ fancy someone. See who's laughing then. Number 8 is wrong, by the way."

"What?"

"Yeah, see, because you've got to isolate the variable so that you could—"

"No, not that. I just think it's funny that you'll somehow find out when I fancy someone like I'm going to tell you myself."

"You are," he assured her, handing her the page so that she could fix her mistake, "Because your heart's going to be fluttering when you think about that person, and you're going to tell your big brother because he's your best friend, even if you won't admit it yourself."

"I hate it when you're right."

"I love to pride myself with that knowledge."

"I was talking about the _homework_."

"Yeah, yeah," he smiled, "So was I."


	2. center

chapter 2 of keeps me on my toes! i looked over this a million times and squealed and hope to not disappoint! :) there's one more part after this!

* * *

Amelia had classes three times a week on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursday.

Obviously, that meant he'd get to see _Lily_ three times a week.

Nine beautiful hours a week.

 _Lovely._

On the next day he'd taken Amelia to practice, he'd made a great effort to make himself look _much_ more presentable than he was the day before, where he'd thrown on a random t-shirt over his uniform pants because he'd just planned on seeing a movie after dropping Amelia off. He hadn't expected to end up _impressing_ somebody. He'd tried to tame his hair as much as he possibly could, neglecting the bottle of hair gel that his dad had invented solely for _him_ to use, because he quite liked his hair the way it was; his goal was only to make it look as if his hair had been ripped— not physically, of course, because that would be a disaster— out of the cover of a fashion magazine, _not_ out of a hurricane like it usually was.

He'd perfected every stroke with his comb, like it was an art. Each strand of his messy hair _had_ to stick out in a certain direction, or it would throw off his entire look altogether.

Amelia had banged on his bathroom door at least fifteen times, but he ignored it each time, because she _just_ didn't have an understanding of how brilliant his hair had to be. "James! I'm thirty minutes late," she'd said, an exaggeration merely to trick him out of the bathroom. He wasn't going to fall for it, because once he checked the time on his phone, they'd have loads of times left, and—

Shit.

What she'd said had turned out to be right, the time on his phone in fact demonstrating that they _were_ late, that she _wasn't_ pulling his tail.

He'd burst out of the bathroom, stumbling down the stairs as she trailed after him, and he grabbed his keys off of the kitchen counter. Thirty minutes put to waste, because all of this rushing was most definitely going to mess up his hair anyway, and Lily wasn't going to notice a difference despite his efforts. He'd only planned to spend at most ten minutes in the bathroom, with far more than enough time to get there early, but, apparently, ten minutes turned into an entire hour.

Time, though a social construct, was stupid.

"What were you _doing_?" Amelia seethed from her seat.

"Oi, relax. You're the best dancer in the class, besides Lily, I'd say. You're not going to miss much from thirty minutes."

"You're— oh my goodness, did you spend all that time in the bathroom for your _hair_?" she asked in an accusing tone, the anger from her voice turning into incredulity, and, if James was correct, quite a bit of amusement as well at the sight of his hair.

"Hush, you," he said, his eyes trained on the road, "I'm speeding, which means I'm more susceptible to a crash."

"Do you want me to bring your hair up to Lily, then?"

"Could you please? I'd like to earn some brownie points with the fair maiden."

"If you— hey!" she started, a thought suddenly going through her head, "Since you didn't go anywhere yesterday, do I still get to drive your car?"

"What? No."

"What? Why?"

"Did you really think I'd trust you with Esmeralda?"

She crossed her arms at him. "I'm not going to bring your hair up to Lily, then," she huffed, a _futile_ attempt at threatening him.

"Fine by me," he shrugged, "Because if _you_ noticed, then Lily's got to notice too."

She pouted at him, but they'd made it to the studio by then— thanks to his speeding just _slightly_ over the limit. As soon as he put his car into park and took the keys out of the ignition, she'd bolted from her seat and into the building, James following her from behind.

Just as it was human instinct to turn one's head towards the source of sudden movement from another part of the room, everyone already inside of the studio was immediately drawn to the presence of James and his sister. Lily, who had been sporting the usual ballet wear— a leotard that showed off her shapely legs—, with her lips covered in a red that was very much absent yesterday, a color that drew even _more_ attention to her face, stared in surprise for a brief moment, but then she beamed at them.

"Amelia! Hello. You're late," she greeted her, not even an inkling of anger or disappointment on her face.

"Sorry, Lily," she said apologetically, before turning to glare at him, "If only _someone_ didn't take so long in the bathroom."

"It's all right, really. We've just been warming up, so you haven't missed a thing," Lily smiled, her eyes flickering towards him as she curved her lips upwards more, and consequently making his heart jump miles high.

They'd returned to their stretching exercises, and Lily had— thankfully— left them to their own devices, saying that she was all-too familiar with the routine to be able to do it herself, and strolled over to James, who'd been leaning against the wall in an effort to look cool, like he was posing for his own photoshoot. He bloody well deserved that photoshoot too, because his hair was looking _amazing_ , if he did say so himself.

"Lily. Fancy seeing you here," he said, his lips quirking up at her.

"You're quite in luck, then. I'm here three days out of the week." She pursed her lips at him. "Have you done something to your hair?"

"Did Amelia point that out to you?"

"No, that's rather low of low to assume that _I_ can't notice it for myself. It looks nice."

"Yeah?" he grinned, "She tried to con me into letting her take my car out for a spin."

"Then, is that why you were late? Your hair, I mean."

"I've got to impress a pretty girl somehow. Nice lipstick."

"That's quite the dry compliment."

"I'd have added something dirty, but I'm afraid it's not appropriate for the situation."

She drew her eyebrows up at him, looking pleased. "Because of the girls?"

"Because I don't think we've reached _that_ stage yet," he corrected her, "But that too. Hey, right, remember yesterday when you said that it was unfortunate about me not having any sort of ulterior motive?"

"I have an idea," she allowed, the corners of her lips rising.

"Do you want to elaborate on that?"

"Would it be terrible of me to say that we've got to return to practice?" she asked teasingly.

"When you say 'we' it sounds an awful like you're including me in the collective group."

"I could be. Care to join the class today?"

"Are you insinuating that I embrace my femininity? Because if you are, then I'd bloody _love_ to."

She beamed at him, taking his hand in hers— holy _fuck,_ her hand was soft— as she led him to the front of the room. Even then, she didn't let go, which was more than enough for the girls to go off of, because they were immediately flooded with prodding questions and accusations, all of which were along the lines of " _Are you two dating?"_

Their words only served for her to tighten her grip on his hand— and his poor little heart— as she smiled pleasantly at them. "This is James. He's Amelia's brother, and he'll be joining us today."

They were met with more chatter.

The only person who didn't express her excitement through gossip talk, of course, was his darling sister, who only stared at them with a smug look, like _she_ was the reason they were holding hands. They'd flocked around him like swans, _quite_ the comparison because such birds were known for their grace. There was also the ballet, but the movie with Natalie Portman was quite terrifying, and he shuddered to think about it.

"Will you be here every class? You were here yesterday, too."

"Do you know the basics of ballet?"

"You've got really cool hair."

"I _love_ ballet," he started, "Been going to every one of Amelia's performances since she started. I reckon I've picked up a few tricks, too, only I don't want to show them because then you'll all get offended if I do it wrong. And _thank you_. My hair's fantastic."

"As much as I love this little bonding, I'm fairly certain that you're all supposed to be warming up," Lily cut in, and the girls groaned, returning to the barres on the wall _not_ covered with mirrors.

"Buzzkill," he teased, and she quirked her lips upwards in response.

"Your little fanclub that you've got can dote on you all they want when they're _not_ here for class," she said, her eyes flickering over to the girls, who had been sneaking glances back at them and quickly turning back when Lily looked over at them. "We should get started, then."

"I thought you'd never say."

She dragged him over to the barre, their hands _still_ intertwined— the _best_ few minutes of his life, he thought— and she'd only let go to place her hands on the barre for support. "I'm assuming that you know that this is called the barre."

"I do."

"Great," she beamed, "Every class starts at the barre. It's also the term for the first portion of the class, where you strengthen your body to prepare for the second part of class."

"So it's like warm-ups, pretty much."

"I suppose so, yes."

"Should I have brought a leotard for myself?"

"Oh, god no," she laughed, "You're fine. It's only for just today, isn't it?"

"Reckon so," he grinned back.

They'd started with pliés first, which Lily had explained as being used as a transitional step or as a cushion for the end of a traditional jump or the beginning. She'd started out on her first position with her toes out to the side and her heels touching. "When you're pliéing, you should make sure that your knees are going directly over the center of your foot. It's like you're going up and down and that there's two walls in front and behind you. The full extent of it is when your heels lift off the ground."

He followed form, the exercise proving to not even be all that bad, and he could only blame it on his athletic conditioning. After he'd gotten that done, he was rewarded with her pretty smile, only accentuated by the red on her lips. They'd continued with other exercises, like elevés and relevés. When she deemed him worthy of having finished with the barre, she moved on to the next portion, which involved the entire class.

Apparently, there was a _lot_ to know about arm positions, like the exact location on finger placement, and how many inches the fingers had to be away from a certain point, and the importance of posture. It was almost all too much for him to keep up with, but he was a bloody genius in the field and in the classroom, and he was going to _nail_ these positions, because the feat could very much up his chances of impressing Lily.

Center work? Piece of cake.

Adagio? Let's ada- _go_.

Lily had explained that this portion consisted of slow, graceful steps that helped to develop balance, extension, and control, something that James was a _professional_ at, his years of football ensuring that. Balance was his best friend— don't let Sirius hear that— and it came in handy _so_ many times in instances where he could have fumbled with the ball or fallen over in his haste to pass and receive.

Of course, the main problem was that he was _much_ too inexperienced in this art, and his feeble attempt at arabesque en pointe, which wasn't even a _serious attempt_ , really, because most of the girls in the class had only _just_ learned to pull it off. It was only after _Lily_ had demonstrated on her fancy shoes with her fancy feet, and he'd done it lighthearted, for _fun_.

Balance was most definitely _not_ his best friend in this situation.

He'd tried standing on the tips of his toes _without_ the pointe shoes, which was the first mistake that he should have been all the wiser to not have done, because it was hard enough _without_ standing on his toes, much to his surprise. Adagio really _was_ the term to describe the portion of the session, with everything suddenly moving in slow motion— _slow, graceful steps—_ as his toes gave way to the ground, and he'd already had the next few seconds playing out in his head, where he'd crash onto the floor headfirst, and he'd probably smash his nose in, all because of his efforts to make the redhead—

He'd been met by her arms.

His left hand had been gripping the barre, and his right hand had been caught by her arms, which steadied him as she pulled him back to his straight posture. "Looks like I fell for you," he said cheekily, ignoring the manner in which his heart was thumping against his chest at their closeness, and the girls erupted into a fit of squeals.

"Smooth," she deadpanned, "Except I'd rather you not get hurt on my accord."

And en pointe? Well, he was most definitely _not_ on point when it came to such a feat, but he'd like to think that if he had done ballet at a young age, he'd be the best ballerina the world had ever seen.

They'd moved on to the allegro portion next, the portion concerning faster, livelier steps, turns, jumps, and— the one term that he'd actually been aware of before this lesson— _pirouettes._

With the stunt that he'd pulled earlier with the adagio, he didn't dare try it out on his own, instead, resorting to watching Lily and the girls twirl gracefully as he watched from the comfort of the barre. They'd gone through petit allegro, which was mostly small jumps and turns, and it soon escalated into much more grand movements, movements that James was somewhat able to keep up with.

They'd ended with reverence, the girls bowing and curtsying Lily, who merely smiled. James, feeling that _he_ was a student of hers on that day, decided that she was well due the respect, and he'd made a ostentatious, over-the-top gesture towards her, ending it by pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Was a pleasure for you to have taught me today."

Her lips curved upwards. "It was a pleasure for you to have _learned_ from me today."

There was his opportunity. Eight simple little words that when strung together, they were to be interpreted as initiation into a romantic relationship. Eight simple little words that when strung together, they were _not_ to be misinterpreted as something else altogether.

"Do you want to go out…" he started, but the situation wasn't right. He couldn't quite possibly ask her that so suddenly. "—Side with me?

"Now?" she asked in surprise.

"Well, yeah. I reckon that was the point."

"No ulterior motives?"

"Nah, not unless you don't mind any prospect of that coming up."

"Well, I _did_ say the lack thereof was unfortunate."

"And you've said it was unfortunate because…?"

"Oh, I don't want to spoil that for you. Let your imagination run wild," she replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and she grabbed her sweater out of her bag, pulling it around herself as she covered herself up. They walked outside, James holding the door open for her like the gentleman that he was, because if his mum caught wind of the fact that he didn't take advantage of an opportunity to be chivalrous, she'd key his car, even if it _was_ paid by the money in _her_ wallet. A traditional woman, his mother was.

"James Potter," she said, the cool air nipping at their skin, "You don't know my last name."

"I don't. I reckon I earned the privilege of learning it after today."

The corners of her lips curled upwards. "It's Evans."

"Evans," he repeated, "Lily Evans."

"Potter," she mimicked, "James Potter."

"Bond. James Bond."

"Are we just saying names now?" she asked in amusement.

"Reckon we've got to have broken the ice somehow."

"More icebreakers, then," she said, taking his hands in hers, and he eyed it for a moment before looking back at her, "Tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything," she nodded.

"That's a lot of information."

"I'm aware. That means we'll have to spend more time together for that to be achieved, unless you're opposed to it, of course, but I'm under the notion that you quite like my company."

"And what makes you think _that_?"

"A lot of things," she answered, "Besides, you didn't deny it."

"Why should I? When you— oh, fuck, I'm so bloody sorry," he said, reminded of the strenuous activities they'd done in the studio.

"For what?" she asked, surprise on her face.

"You've been doing a lot of footwork, and my sister complains a lot about how sore her feet are afterwards, so obviously that'd be the same for you, that is, unless you've got an awfully high pain tolerance. I feel like an arse for not asking you to sit down."

"Oh, no," she replied, smiling, "It's fine."

"No, honestly, sit. I'll sit down beside you. I'll massage your feet, too, if you want— no, _shit_ , wait, that sounds creepy. Swear I don't have a foot fetish or anything, not that I find feet repulsive and not that I worship feet, because _gross._ "

He'd been so preoccupied with fumbling over the implications of his words that he hadn't even _noticed_ that she'd let go of his hands, strange enough, and had taken to sitting on the curb. "As adorable as I find you to be stumbling over your lack of a foot fetish, could you maybe take it over here?"

"You find me adorable?"

" _That's_ what you're focusing on?"

"I _love_ compliments. I love receiving them, and, on the occasion, giving them." He settled beside her on the curb. "Your lips look exceptionally pretty today."

" _Just_ my lips?"

"Fishing for compliments, Lily Evans?"

"Nope. I can't coax a compliment out of an occasional compliment-giver, apparently."

"You wanted to know everything about myself. Here's something: red's my favourite color."

"Oh? Mine's gold."

"Is it because of my eyes?" he asked, leaning in closely to blink repeatedly at her, fully aware of how close they were, the lights from the studio shining down at her to fully capture the shine in her eyes and on her lips. His action only served to evoke laughter from those lips of hers. When she laughed, she radiated sunshine, and he didn't even _know_ that was possible, having thought that all of those romantic movies he'd watched were far too unrealistic. It was a pretty sort of laughter, the sort where her eyes would crinkle together and they'd gleam even brighter.

She reached up to stop his blinking with a hand, consequently smudging his glasses slightly. "I can't believe you'd think I'd be as shallow as that. It's because I'm materialistic, obviously, and the gold reminds me of my one true love."

"Obviously," he agreed, smiling, "When's your birthday? I've got to give you something tangible on that special day and not just a flimsy compliment."

"January 30th. Yours?"

"March 27th. Reckon we've got to wait a whole year for any gifts," he answered, unable to take his eyes off of the beauty that was her. She'd noticed, of course. How could she not when conversation had ceased, when they were the only people outside, in the world, really? He hadn't bothered to elaborate, to continue on his contributions to the conversation, but even if he _did_ try, what would he have said? He'd been too entranced with the greens of her eyes that seemed to be luring him in.

"You're staring," she said.

"I am," he admitted.

"Why?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"I'd like to hear it from your lips."

"You _are_ fishing for compliments, only I've already given you a compliment for the day. I do stand on my statement about your lips, though. Awfully pretty, they are."

"Well, I _did_ choose to wear this bold color for a reason. It's working, too."

"It's a _waste_ ," he insisted, "Because how could you wear it without thinking that I'd want to kiss that lipstick off of you?"

Her lips drew upwards. "That's why I wore it."

He reached over to brush her hair out of her face and then inched closer to her, trapping her legs between his own. His lips were very much about to acquaint themselves with hers, and he could feel her breath on him as his heart hammered at his chest, doing about a million pirouettes, and her eyes fluttered shut, her long lashes tickling his cheeks.

This was it.

This was how it'd go with her, the conclusion to the first act of the story, the—

"James!"

Right, he should have expected that one.

Lily's presence had made him forget that there really _were_ other people in the world, that isolating them from everyone else didn't necessarily equate to being able to do their hearts' desires without interruption from someone. And Amelia— how could he have left her out of the equation?— had stayed in the studio and had only exited when her friends had left.

He should have known that with great power comes great responsibility.

With a menace of a sister comes _great_ responsibility.

With a menace of a sister comes _great urges to strangle said sister._

He pulled away reluctantly from Lily, who had some sort of amused look on her face, as he turned wearily to his sister as she started towards them. His hands had at one point found themselves on Lily— one cupping her cheek and the other on her back— and Amelia noticed. She gave them an innocent look. "I interrupted you two, didn't I?"

"Damn right you did," he grumbled, and Lily nudged him, her eyes giving off the message to _be nice or else there won't be any other opportunities that could easily end with someone cockblocking_.

"Sorry Lily," Amelia said, and _not_ at James, her _own_ dear brother.

"Oi, where's my apology at?"

"I waited in the studio for exactly five minutes after Phoebe left. It's not my fault you didn't get to kiss," Amelia shrugged, "Let's go, Big Brother. I'm hungry."

Lily stifled a laugh, her hand reaching down to gently tug his own off of her. "Best not keep your sister waiting."

"If only she'd waited another minute or two," he sighed, helping her up to her feet, "You good?"

"As always," she assured him.

What was he supposed to do after that? A hug would have shown that he was being _much_ too clingy for knowing her after a day, and a kiss to even the cheek felt weird with his sister watching their interactions. He'd settled for an awkward pat on her shoulder, and she offered a quizzical quirk of her eyebrows at the gesture, but she didn't question it.

Not so confident now, was he?

Everyone that he knew would most definitely take the mickey out of him now, and his mother would do everything in her power to speed up the business trip just to catch the earliest flight she could take in order to whack him over the head with a newspaper clipping. Sirius would move back into their house if it meant he could laugh at James's life and make a joke out of everything.

He could see it now: _What does one do when they nearly,_ almost _, not quite there, get some after 18 years of cursing the dirt with his existence? Pat the poor person who'd been kind enough to bring them out of their misery._

Amelia? Well, what was she _not_ doing everyday that didn't concern embarrassing him in some way?

But then Lily, who seemed to have detected his deepest, darkest thoughts, smiled at him, and stood on the tips of her toes— _en pointe, on point—_ as she pressed a sweet, hard kiss on his cheek. He'd turned towards her in incredulity, and a quick scan of her lips showed that they weren't as vibrant as they had been before, which only meant that she'd left her mark on her, that there was a bloody _lipstick print_ on his cheek.

He was at a loss for words, his jaw having dropped on the hard, asphalt ground and not wanting to climb back up. She pouted at him, her lips puckered up quite attractively. "You're not saying anything."

"Thank you," he said in a daze, because his mother had taught him the importance of manners, and he didn't want to come off as ungrateful to such an angel. He reached up to touch the blessed cheek, the part of his face that he'd never bloody wash again if hygiene wasn't a necessity.

"I figured that I had to get this lipstick smeared somehow," she replied, her lips curving upwards, and then she patted his shoulder back, "I'll see you, James. Bye, Amelia." She waved at him, then his sister, who had the right mind to not interrupt again, instead having fixated her eyes on the ground, because she wasn't _that_ evil.

That, or she didn't want to see her brother getting love and affectionate.

She walked away, and James knew right then and there that he was going to do about a million horribly-executed pirouettes when he got home.

This was for sure the start of something amazing, phenomenal, _theatrical_.

* * *

 **When James's parents came home from their trip to America, they'd been startled to see their only son spinning about in the living room.**

Honestly, he didn't even blame them.

Actually, no, he took that back. They shouldn't have even _been_ surprised in the first place, because he got up to a lot of bullshit in his free time, and doing pirouettes in the comfort of his own home was probably one of the most normal activities he'd ever done in his entire lifetime.

He'd bought real, authentic swords online and dualled with Sirius, where they'd then proceeded to slice a bunch of fruits with said swords; it did not end well for either of them, both of them sustaining wounds on their arms and faces after swinging just a _bit_ too hard, and his mother had taken the swords away from them. He'd bought a live lobster from the local supermarket and kept it as a pet, taking it on daily walks on a leash until it had nearly pinched Amelia, and his mother promptly cooked it. He'd done strange things as a teenager, and they were focusing on his inner ballerina?

The _disrespect_.

At least his mother didn't chop his legs off.

He wasn't being reprimanded for it, but their judgmental stares were more than enough to nearly deter him, _nearly_ being the key term here.

They'd asked him if he needed to see the doctor and that they could set up an appointment if he wanted, and after insisting that he really _was_ fine, they'd dropped the case, but they'd continue to look at him with those judging eyes of theirs.

He'd unfortunately had to wash the lipstick off his cheek, though only after he'd taken a clear picture of it— the lighting in his bathroom allowing him to get the perfect shot. He was quite disappointed with it gone, but with so much of his life left to live, he was _bound_ to get more of those kisses from her.

His parents weren't the only ones who picked up on his strange behaviour.

After securing Lily's phone number the next and last class of the week, which had led to his jovialness in the first place, he couldn't even plan a date with her, having created other plans with his mates after his own practice on Friday. Of course, having spent a week in a completely different environment doing _different_ activities with his feet, he'd gotten his team to warm up, and, consequently, accidentally ended doing a plié, which did _not_ go unnoticed by his team.

His barre exercise was met with a string of _What the fuck, Potter?_ 's.

He scoffed at them, because _he_ was the captain of the team and was _not_ going to endure their ideas of toxic masculinity, going on an entire rant about how one should not at all be repulsed by actions that appear to reduce one's own virility and then ending it with the fact that women were _awesome_. His speech had shut their mouths immediately, and they carried on.

Bloody confident, he sounded.

If only James had that power everywhere he went.

He was quite proud of himself for saving his arse, but, as it did everywhere, word travelled quickly, and as soon as practice had let out, he'd met up with a laughing Sirius and an amused Remus and Peter.

"What?" he demanded, which only made Sirius laugh harder. "Remus?"

"Frank's posted a photo of you doing some sort of ballet exercise on Twitter."

"Bloody fucking—" he started, and then he narrowed his eyes at them, "You lot don't look surprised."

"Why would we?" Remus asked, "You've done a lot of weird things."

"Someone's even created a Twitter account called 'shitjameshasdone,'" Peter added.

Sirius had calmed down from his laughing bout by then, but he didn't add anything too important to the conversation. "A companion to 'shitsiriushasdone'. You know what they say, the sequel can never match up to its predecessor."

"I've gone to so many of Amelia's classes that I got mixed up, is all."

"You've gone to three," Remus pointed out.

"And I was fully interested all three times," he insisted, feeling the need to defend himself.

"Fully interested in that instructor, more like," Sirius muttered under his breath.

"What? There's no correlation between that and Lily."

"The barre. Ballet. Lily. _Correlation_."

And Sirius, having had a wicked thought occurring to him, said, "You know what they say about dancers and their flexibility? They can do _amazing_ shit in bed. She can do a split on your—"

"Don't even finish that thought."

"And she could hang upside down and suck—"

"This is why I don't tell you things."

"I've never seen Lily in real life, but I already know what she looks like because you keep to detail and describe literally _everything_ about her," Peter put in.

"I don't—"

"Amelia tells us what _you_ leave out."

"We have a group chat with her and everything. We talk about you all the time."

"Oi, Peter, that was confidential."

"Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Glad that you care enough to make an entire _chat_ for me," James grumbled, "Hope you lot have Uber money. If not, I'll leave you money to catch a ride home."

"Where the fuck are you heading? We're going to eat, if you've forgotten."

"Home," he answered, "I don't have to deal with you taking the mickey out of me if I don't want to."

"You'll only get teased at home," Remus brought up, and he turned back around, a scowl on his face.

He really couldn't win.

* * *

 **By Amelia's sixth lesson since James had started driving her, everyone by then had found out about his slightly high infatuation with the redhead.**

Amelia had continued her gossips about her classmates— Luca had _finally_ asked Phoebe out, but it turned out that he'd only used her to get to _Amelia_ , a twist that James honestly should have figured out. Needless to say, Amelia rejected him right off the bat, thank god for that, because that git didn't deserve his sister. They'd bumped to the songs on the radio, the genre varying from day to day depending on what they were feeling that day.

He'd been insistent that _he,_ rather than their mother, drive her to her classes, and that, along with his pirouetting that he'd taken up on doing around the house— he'd done it while making breakfast, while doing his homework, and even once attempted it in the shower, which had almost landed him on a trip to the ER had he not gripped the wall to steady himself— had made it all more suspicious for her.

But his mother, who was not one to stop quality brother-sister bonding time, had let it go, and he thought he'd been safe, that she wouldn't yet find out about his crush because he'd begged Amelia not to say a word of it, even going as far as promising to do her homework for the rest of the week. It'd proved efficient too, as he'd walked in to the living room to his mother asking her sweetly if she knew what was wrong with him, and Amelia had only subtly changed the subject each time.

Safe he was not.

He'd been watching the girls— mainly Lily— practice their petit allego, and his eyes were transfixed on her long, shapely legs as they moved about, a striking similarity to the movement of a fairy, light and gentle, like she was a leaf drifting in the wind without even a care in the world. She'd stopped every once in a while to give a pointer to one of the girls, helping them to perfect their movements, like the sweet woman that she was, and—

The door burst open.

It was akin to one of those iconic scenes in those movies, like where the husband presumed dead came back home to his loving spouse, or where the federal forces broke into a convicted criminal's hiding spot, except not really.

His mother's eyes landed on him immediately, and she had a smug look going on for her, the cat having finally trapped the mouse, knowing full well that the taste was well worth it, and that's what he was right now: a puny, feeble mouse. She was adorned in professional wear, which was not at all unexpected from her, and she heaved a pleased sigh.

The entire class had stopped to see the source, and Lily beamed at the woman in question. "Mrs. Potter. How have you been?"

"Lily," she smiled in return, "I see you've met my idiot of a son."

"Well, I wouldn't say that he's an _idiot_ ," she replied, a small blush on her cheeks. James would know it's there. He had an an appreciate for the small things in life. "I— Mrs. Potter, I'd really love to chat, but I've got a class to teach."

"Of course," his mother said, "I'd only come to check on my loving children. Amelia, sweetie, keep up the good work."

Amelia nodded, and with one last smug look at him, she walked out of the studio.

He hadn't at all expected her to _drive_ to the studio to check on him. Was he really that transparent? Did it really only take one more look to see the reason why he'd wanted to take Amelia to her classes?

The answer, of course, was yes.

He _still_ hadn't gone on a date with Lily, _still_ hadn't gotten to kiss her properly, because of their schedules, and a little more than 9 hours a week with her physically _just_ wasn't cutting it. They'd talked on the phone a lot, mostly in the dead middle of the night— because who needs sleep anyway?— and texted each other throughout the day. She was the type of person who'd still continue the conversation even after hours passing since the last text was sent, like the barrier of time didn't exist, which was great. She never left a single line unanswered, much to his delight.

And as he walked out of the studio with her, having compromised with Amelia to allow them ten minutes alone, they sat down at their usual spot on the curb, her hands reaching back to take her hair out of its bun. He _much_ preferred it down, loving the way it fell in waves around her, plus there was also the prospect that once they _finally_ kissed, he could run his hands through them.

He was a sucker for romance, a sucker for her hair, and a sucker for _her._

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer to him, and she smiled her pretty little smile, taking his hand in hers. "What was that little stunt with your mum earlier?" she asked him.

"I dunno. I reckon she was trying to prove something about us."

"About us?"

"Yeah."

"That's strange. It's not like we're dating or anything. Not yet, anyway."

"Mum likes to interfere a lot in my life," James said, his heart dancing at the 'not yet' bit.

"When I think about it, she _did_ mention you an awful lot when she talked to me," she hummed, "She always said how charming you were, but I'd always thought it was because she thought highly of you because you're her son."

"Having second thoughts about that?"

She nodded. "It didn't even _come_ to me that she might have been trying to get _me_ to think highly of _you_."

"Did it work?"

"I wouldn't be sitting beside you if it didn't, and I wouldn't have let you almost kiss me that other night."

"We can talk about that?"

"The kiss?"

"The _almost_ kiss, yeah."

"I don't see why we can't."

"My mates have been taking the mickey out of me for that. Amelia runs her mouth to them, that traitor."

"Amelia talks about you a lot, too. It's obvious that she loves you, from the way she shows you off."

"Are you sure? That doesn't sound like my sister."

She nodded. "I'm positive. She's said things like 'My brother is top of his class' and 'I can always go to my big brother if I need help with something' and 'He always knows what to say.' You're very protective of her."

"'Course I am. That's what siblings are for, right?"

Her eyes flickered down to her lap. "I guess so," she said quietly.

"Are you all right? Shit, I didn't mean to rub salt on the wound. I didn't realise—"

"No, it's fine, James," she replied, giving him a reassuring smile, "Really."

"We can change the subject, or if you want to sit in silence then that's completely fine, too—"

"I can talk about it. I shouldn't leave you in the dark about it."

"Honestly, Lily—"

"James Potter, I am going to tell you, and you are going to sit your pretty self down and listen," she demanded, and he complied. She tucked her hair behind her ears. "I've got an older sister— Petunia— and she's never really been supportive of my decision to dance, which makes zero sense because it doesn't at all affect her, and the least she could do is at least _pretend_ to be there for me, like she did when we were kids, but she thinks that dancing will get me nowhere in life. I wasn't even _planning_ on taking the professional route for dancing, and don't get me wrong, I _love_ dancing, but what I'd really like more is to help change the world for the— I'm saying too much. Sorry."

"No, don't apologize for that, Lily. Keep going. Didn't you say you wanted to tell me? I mean, obviously you don't have to continue, but don't stop because you feel that I might be judging you for saying _too_ much. You know? And the situation concerning your sister, I'm sorry that she's not sticking by your side no matter the decisions you've made, but I know that things _will_ get better for both you and her."

She offered him a small smile. "Thank you, James."

"I'm just being a decent human being, is all," he shrugged.

"Well, thank you for that," she said, the left corner of her lip twitching upwards, "I suppose I understand that she wants what's best for me, but I think my choices _are_ what's best for me."

"'Course, if your choices make you happy and they don't hurt anyone else, then why shouldn't you see them through the end?"

" _Exactly,_ " she sighed, hugging his arm, and he revelled in her touch as she pressed her head on him, "I can't pick my family, but it doesn't change the fact that I do love her. You smell nice."

He couldn't help it. He burst into laughter at her admission. "Is that a cue for the serious discussion to end?"

"I've got to say _something_ about it. You've that got attractive man smell going for you."

"Is it the smell that makes me attractive or is it _me_ that makes that smell attractive?"

"Both, I'd say. You've a lovely smell and a lovely face."

"You're being generous with the compliments today."

"If it helps to get us out of this limbo of some sorts between friendship and romance, I'd happily tell you that you're attractive a million times, James Potter."

"No need for that. We could put an end to that limbo right now, and—"

And like every other opportunity that he had to make a move, they were interrupted yet _again._

Perfect.

Guess who decided to show up at that very instant?

It was like the universe got off on cockblocking him, or, if that was too much of an exaggeration, at least his _sister._

"Did I interrupt again, Big Brother?"

"Nah," he answered, knowing very well that she'd take much pride in meddling in his relationships, and he turned towards the redhead beside him, "I'll see you next week? And Facetime tonight?"

Her lips curled up, "That's the plan."

He helped her up from the curb, and she walked towards her car, offering him a mock salute while he waved at her.

"You didn't get mad at me," Amelia observed, in near amazement.

"Why would I?"

"Because I interrupted you and Lily again."

"That's a petty reason to get mad, 'Melia, and, I dunno, I guess it's not as romantic if I try to rush it knowing full well that you could cut us off."

She sat down in beside him, in that spot that Lily had occupied just moments ago. "I hope I don't turn out like my idiot brother."

"Oi," he said, "No need for that negativity. I'm your ticket home, remember?"

"No, like, you're so _lovesick_ , and it's only been like a week since you've met her. Doesn't it feel scary to know that someone can do that to you?"

"Yeah, it's a little terrifying," he replied slowly, "But it's worth it, I think, I dunno. I'm not in love, not _yet,_ anyway, and I sure as hell am not a love expert."

"How do you know when you're in love?"

He shrugged. "I think I'll eventually come to realise it. Why all these love questions?" he asked curiously, turning towards her. Her face flushed red, and she adamantly refused to meet his eye. Ah. That just about explained it.

She _fancied_ someone.

His little, diabolical sister _fancied_ someone.

She _was_ concerned in her little gossip talks, only having left herself out each time so as he _wouldn't_ suspect that she was very well involved in the love life going on about her school.

"You know, Amelia, you've got so much of your life to live for before you fall in love," he told her, "Future doctor, remember? Got your mind set on that, remember?"

"I know, James, but I can't _help_ it."

"It's all right, 'Melia. You can love who you want to love—"

"No, James," she interrupted quickly, "It's a guy that I fancy, not a girl."

"Oh," he replied, scratching the back of his head, "That's fine, too. Which little bugger stole my little sister's heart? And for how long?"

"That's all you're getting from me today, Big Brother." She stood up from the curb, brushing any debris off of her person, and he was _not_ going to let it go.

"Oi, when I find out, I'll be sure to be the one to drive you to your first date with him."

"That's fair," she said, "You need to do _something_ with your boring life, anyway."

Fucking brutal she was, even at times when he thought he had the upper hand.

Whoever that bloke was, he was a lucky bastard.

He could only hope that his sister's heart wouldn't be broken horribly.

*** find me on tumblr lovesickjily


	3. révérence

last chapter of keeps me on my toes! i hope you all enjoy!

* * *

They'd stayed in that limbo for quite some time, not quite dating but not quite just friends either.

He couldn't find the right opportunity to ask her out, because casually asking her to dinner through text didn't fit that idea of romance that he'd so desperately wanted to experience for himself, and though he didn't necessarily want to go all out with giant balloons and fireworks, he still wanted to do it _properly_. He had to wait for the right atmosphere, with no fear of interruption.

Before he knew it, it'd been a month since they'd met. One whole month of bliss and his people taking the mickey out of him, but the latter was tolerable because _Lily Evans._ Need he say more?

If he caught nights without sleep before, with balancing helping Amelia with her work and then doing his own, well, now he had all of _that, plus_ deliberately choosing to have late night conversations with the pretty redhead, where they'd talk about anything and everything. On some nights, she'd tell him about her day and he'd tell her about _his_ day, or maybe they fought on miniscule things, like which type of candy reigned supreme over all candies. Sometimes they barely exchanged a word between each other because he'd been up much later than he'd thought with homework, but the mere fact that she was on the receiving end of the phone was enough to please him, to know that she was _there_ made it easier to relax.

He got nearly 4 hours of sleep a night.

That was fine, though, because he made up for it by sleeping in on the weekends for another few hours, treating himself very nicely, if he thought so himself, and then he'd create his schedule for the day accordingly.

And in the month that he'd gone to Amelia's practices, he hadn't found much improvement in his nonexistent ballerina career, because he was still completely shit at everything— not that he expected to be amazing at it, though he _did_ find the pirouettes to be entertaining to him on his free time— but it _did_ improve his relationship with Lily and his sister loads.

A lot could happen in a month, James noticed.

WIth the introduction of May came exams, graduation, his regional football championship, and Amelia's dance recital.

But, he'd gotten through the exams, and his team had won the football game with flying colors obviously, because he was a bloody amazing captain and player, so what else was to be expected? Lily had congratulated him at least a million times on the phone, apologetic because his game had overlapped with her dance class, but she'd been so awfully sweet about it that he couldn't even bring himself to be mad— not that he would have been upset, anyway.

She had been vocal about her excitement for the recital, as was Amelia, and so it was hard for _him_ to not be enthusiastic about the ordeal as well. He knew they'd worked hard for their performance and that they were most definitely going to sway the crowd. And now, as he adjusted his tie accordingly in the mirror, his dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and designer belt buckled on his pants, he knew very well that tonight was going to be one of the best nights ever, to see the girl of his dreams and his sweet little sister smiling up on stage.

He'd met up with his family in the living room, Amelia adorned in her ivory gold tutu and makeup caked on her face, all thanks to their mum, who had made it a priority for her to look as nice as possible to outshine all the other girls. "You look beautiful, 'Melia," he said earnestly, and she beamed at him.

"Thanks, Big Brother. I knew you could clean yourself up without waste too much time," she replied, but he wouldn't let the subtle insult ruined his nice-brother demeanour, nor his mood for the night.

"Play nice, Amelia," their mother scolded, but then her eyes softened at the sight of them, "My offspring are so beautiful. Oh! James, Amelia, come here. I want to take pictures of you two."

"Mum, we usually take photos at the theatre _after_ the performance," Amelia responded.

"Oh, nonsense. Come, come. Stand in front of the fireplace. We've got to get photos before all that dancing messes up your pretty makeup."

They posed in front of the fireplace as their mother had commanded, Amanda stopping just at James's chest, and he put on hand on her shoulder and the other in his pocket, the epitome of cool collectedness, if he did say so himself. Their mum then pushed her phone into their father's hand, situating herself right in between James and his sister as they beamed up at the camera, and then, if _that_ wasn't enough, she'd placed the phone on a tripod so they could all take one happy family photo together.

James didn't even protest. Why should he? He _loved_ the over-the-top behaviours of his family, because if he were to determine his lineage from personality alone, he knew he fit in quite perfectly with the rest of them. And besides, he knew those photos would come out nicely, as he, along with everyone else, was quite photogenic. He _loved_ memories and looking back at concrete evidence of such.

He knew _damn_ well that there were to be about fifty more of these photos at the theatre, and if his mother was involved, then he'd also end up with some _very_ nice photos with Lily, pretty photos that he knew he'd end up getting developed at a local photo lab.

They'd stopped at the local florist to pick up the biggest, loveliest bouquet of flowers, as James's request, because Lily deserved nothing less, and his mother would have slapped him silly if he didn't even _bother_ bringing a gift for her performance. He'd nearly gotten roses, but his mother had brought up the fact that Lily would get _loads_ of roses, and so he'd settled on tulips.

He'd forcibly demanded his mates to come as well, but they wouldn't come until right before the performance began, because only family members were allowed to visit backstage, thankfully, as he wanted alone time with Lily, with minimal disruptions and catcalls. And now, as Amelia ran up to her friends and chattered excitedly with them— most likely about the upcoming performance— he made eye contact with _her_ , and he visibly stopped in his tracks, the gears and cogs in his brain stopping short at the sight of her.

She was wearing an ivory gold dress of some sorts, its layers cascading down to just below her knees, like she was of royalty, and the mere fact that she wasn't wearing one of the traditional tutus that nearly everyone else had been sporting set her aside from the rest, if her overwhelming beauty wasn't already doing such a thing. Atop her tight, clean bun was a crown of some sort, as if it was a _part_ of her. He _had_ to look like an idiot, standing there with his mouth open agape, and he promptly closed it, holding the bouquet out to her.

"Pretty," he said, then blinked, "The dress, I mean— shit. I meant you, but obviously the dress looks pretty. On you."

She smiled at him, and, almost as if she wanted to make him even _more_ flustered, instead of just simply taking the flowers, she added, "Thank you. I was a little scared that it'd show too much of my tits, but then my mum fixed it up— that great woman— and now I think it shows just the perfect amount."

His hand flew up to his hair. "I— Right," he replied, not exactly sure what to say in this situation, because he was an 18-year-old who had yet to get some, the farthest he'd even gone with the opposite gender being heavy snogging, never having gotten the privilege to ever _see_ aforementioned part in person before. He was a gentleman, and even if she _did_ raised attention towards her chest, he was _not_ going to stare.

"You look really nice, too," she told him, as if an ego boost like _that_ would snap him out of his daze. It only _slightly_ worked.

"You nervous?" he said instead, because continuing to dwell on her words would only cause discomfort for him _and_ her.

"A little," she admitted, "I've got a solo this year, and everyone's eyes are going to be on me. It's discerning if I screw up, but let's hope it doesn't get to that."

"I'm sure Tchaikovsky would be proud of you."

"Tchaikovsky would probably be wondering why I'm not performing one of his compositions."

"He's a smart bloke. I'm sure he'd understand that your performance of one of his works would only lead to a jealous me."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Because there's a bloke in all of them, and essentially he'd be stealing you away from me."

"No need to get possessive," she replied, patting his arm, "We're not official."

"Not _yet_ ," he corrected her.

Before she could answer though, his mother strolled over to them, throwing loads of compliments towards Lily, outdoing James in a single setting, but then she had demanded that they pose for the camera. He wasn't going to stand about awkwardly beside Lily, not when he knew that his mother would make a great deal out of it, so he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as they smiled at the camera.

The director in charge of the production had come in soon after, escorting those who weren't performing out, but James had managed to get in, "You'll do bloody amazing," to her, and she gave him one last smile before he left with his mother to their seats.

His mates were already seated when he'd arrived, and he placed himself to the left of Sirius, who had thankfully made an effort to be dressed appropriately for the situation, having traded his usual black, leather jackets for a tie. He'd been fighting with Remus over something pointless, but it didn't last long, the recital beginning shortly.

They'd sat through an hour of girls of different age groups from different studios, and they were cute enough, James decided, but nowhere near as impressive towards Sirius, who had been yawning throughout all of the performances. At one point, his mate had woken up from a short nap and promptly _clapped_ for the melodramatic performance, which James _probably_ should have expected.

He had watched Amelia with careful eye, though, and had actually seemed interested in her performance, for good reason, too. Lily had taught them well, and if not for that, then he'd only watched because it was the only performance from someone that Sirius actually _cared_ for. Amelia and the others gave one last bow to the audience, and after they'd left the stage, James knew that Lily was next.

The lights had dimmed akin to the manner in that of a movie theatre's, and the spotlight had suddenly dimmed, reappearing as it was casted down upon Lily, who had run up on stage and made a grand gesture of an introductory wave of a sort soon after. She truly looked like an angel, or a princess, or both, what with the way the light had caused the sequins to sparkle and golden ruffles to gleam. An easy-going smile was on her lips, with _no_ nervousness evident on her face, showing that she _loved_ it up there.

The music had begun playing _slightly_ too soon, starting up at a few counts too early, and Lily, who hadn't gotten to her first position in time, seemed to not at all deterred. She'd been able to improvise, that amazing woman, and had made it look brilliant without at all fumbling or rushing in her haste to keep up.

The music had to keep up with _her._

And Sirius, at the sight of her success at playing it off, his ability to find any miniscule thing that was amiss strong, let out a soft, "Holy shit."

 _Holy shit_ was an understatement, and as she looped out pirouette after pirouette effortlessly, as each step that she took was in complete sync with the music, like _she_ was forming the beats herself with each movement, as she found the perfect levelling required to balance herself on her toes, James knew _exactly_ why she'd fallen in love with the art.

Ballet was an art, and James would happily paint himself from head to toe with the movements, like he was drifting through calm waters or soaring through the clouds as a bird. The orchestra only enhanced the atmosphere, narrating Lily's movements, her feet taking steps with the piano notes and her arms spreading with the wind instruments.

Lily was radiant on that stage, breezing about as if she _owned_ it, and for good reason too, especially when her joy was so clearly evident in her movements and on her face, so contagious in that if he were to do a scan of the entire audience, no doubt there'd be smiles on the faces of everyone present in the theatre. She couldn't have been any less capable of such a feat, as brilliant as she was.

It wasn't possible, _couldn't be_ , yet somewhat she'd been able to defy the laws of gravity— or at least take high advantage of such— as she spun and twirled and fluttered about with such unfathomable grace, and the crowd had been dead silent throughout her entire performance. That was _great_ , because she deserved it, because brilliance _had_ to be rewarded with careful contemplation and quiet awe, but of course, when she'd landed on her toes for the last time, ending it with a concluding curtsy, the crowd went wild.

James had led the audience in applaud, and when everyone else ceased from their clapping, he'd continued, because she'd graced them with a jaw-dropping performance, and the least he could give her was endless cheers. She moved off of the stage, and the spotlight turned off.

He'd wanted to get up from his seat and follow her backstage, to be the first to tell her that she looked marvelous on stage before any other bloke tried to steal her affections from him, but he couldn't, not yet anyway. Though she was the last performance for the night— they saved the best for last, he reckoned— all the dancers had come up on stage for curtain call, and they were given the last applause for the night.

They'd all gone backstage afterwards, and everyone _but_ Lily was in sight. He was about to give up on his quest to find her, because his sister deserved the same appreciative words as much as she did, and once he made eye contact with her, he walked towards her, but she stopped him. "Lily's in the changing room."

"'Melia, you did—"

"I know, I know. You can tell me all that on the way home. Go get her," she replied, waving him off, as she returned to taking pictures with her friends, and he noticed how her eyes had darted back and forth towards a boy her age, flowers in his hand.

He _found_ him, the bloke who'd captured his little sister's heart.

And if his sister was helping him with his relationship, why not do the same towards her?

He swaggered towards him, and when he cleared his throat, the boy turned towards him. "Who are those flowers for?" he asked.

 _Please say Amelia, please say Amelia, please say—_

"Amelia," the kid answered.

James nodded, finding it _very_ hard to contain his smirk, "And what's _your_ name?"

"Oliver."

He racked his brain as he searched for any mention of an _Oliver,_ but, to no avail, found nothing. Curious, that.

"Well, _Oliver,_ I'm James. Are you going to go through with it or are you going to toss the flowers in the bin?"

"Go through with it, but you're—"

"Amelia's brother," he finished, "Listen, you seem like a good bloke, but if you break my sister's heart, remember that we'll have a _lovely_ chat about it after."

Oliver gulped, nodding frantically. "But what if she rejects me?"

"She won't."

"She won't?"

"I'm her brother. I didn't tell you to shove off, did I?"

"I guess not," he conceded, and James's lips quirked upwards at him, "Go get her, then."

WIth that, he walked away, feeling dead cool, if he did say so himself. He had someone to go to himself, after all.

Amelia didn't specify _which_ changing room Lily was in, seeing as the hallway was littered with loads of such rooms, but it wasn't hard at all to find it, considering the fact that there was only one room whose door was closed, as everyone was gathering about in the main room. He gave a light knock on the door, and at Lily's "Come in," he pushed it open.

Lining the dresser in front of her were dozens of bouquets of flowers from other suitors— who had _no_ chance with her, for their information— and _his_ bouquet, as James was very proud to admit, was set aside, the others having been stacked atop one another. His mother had been right about not getting roses, because if his tulips were scattered in the other flowers, it'd be very easy to sort them out. Lily caught his eye in the reflection of her mirror, and she smiled at him. "Amelia passed on my message to you, then?"

"I reckon I wouldn't be here right now if she didn't."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd have stumbled upon me eventually," she replied with the purse of her lips.

"Reckon so, yeah, if I tore down the entire building."

"Thankfully, it didn't have to come to that."

"I mean, I would have funded its rebuilding and helped rebuild it," he clarified, his eyes returning to the flowers, "You've a lot of flowers. Deserve them, too. You were bloody fantastic up there, _so_ fucking amazing. Reckon a lot of blokes thought so too."

"Well, it doesn't matter how many blokes thought that, because I've only got eyes for one."

"Would it be arrogant of me to assume it's me?"

"Not at all, seeing as I've set aside _your_ flowers."

"Perfect," he beamed, "What are you going to do with the rest?"

"Like every other year, I give them away. It always manages to make people's days."

What. A. Sweetheart.

He was swooning now, nowhere jealous because she was the epitome of _kindness,_ of everything sweet in the world. Hell, if it was up to him, he'd have thrown all the flowers away, though it would have been more out of flippant disregard for those blokes on his behalf.

"Shit, that's actually—"

"James Potter," she announced, cutting him off briskly, "We are the only two occupants of this fancy dressing room."

"Oh. Yeah. Do you want to go back out? Everyone's celebrating, lovely performance again by the way, and— shit," he said, stopping to look at her, and she gave him a coy smile.

"You've figured me out," she hummed.

"Your feet must be hurting like crazy. I'm sorry, Lily, I should have guessed that you were in pain and that was why you'd taken to sitting in here."

The smiled disappeared off her face. "I— what?"

"You want a foot massage, right? WIth all that pointe work you've done on stage?"

"Oh, I— I've gotten fairly used to it by now," she answered in surprise, "But, you're kidding, aren't you?"

"No, why would I be?"

"I called you over to a secluded area, and—" she paused, shaking her head, her smile reappearing on her face, "Come here."

He cocked an eyebrow at her but complied nonetheless, edging closer to her as she stood up, and he didn't know _shit_ about makeup, but the products that she had caked on her face seemed to enhance her already-pretty features, causing her eyes to stand out even more than they already were. She was _so_ gorgeous, _so so_ beautiful, and he _had_ to say it, tell her that she was so.

"You really were brilliant on that stage."

"Oh?" she said softly.

"Yeah. You got the loudest claps, I'd wager, and—"

She tugged at the bottom of his tie, pulling him downwards so that their faces were level with one another, and her breath skimmed over his lips as she uttered, "James, _please_ , for the love of god, shut _up_ ," and with that, she pressed her lips against his softly, her eyes fluttering shut as she pushed against him, all he could focus on being how gentle she was being with him.

He was completely unprepared, even after an entire month dreaming about what it'd feel like against her lips, after every almost, smoothly cut off by an interruption from the rest of the world. He responded ardently, his hands finding their way beneath her face, and he knew it was all well worth the wait, the constant interruptions if it all led to _this, her._

He was an idiot, _truly_ , and he laughed against her lips, thinking about how he'd thought that she'd summoned him into the room because her feet were hurting her, where it hadn't even once occurred to him that she'd wanted the privacy for _these_ reasons, for _kissing_ him. She'd laughed along with him, and there was _much_ too much teeth involved, when he was trying to capture her lips as she smiled widely, but it was _fine._ They'd have loads of times after, because to have expected a scene straight out of a romance movie was far too unrealistic, but this?

This was _perfect._

He was fairly certain that he'd never get used to the taste of her strawberry lip balm, and it'd felt as if she lifted _him_ off his feet, because he was practically floating, one with the clouds because this surely was heaven. He'd gotten a taste of _heaven._

They'd pulled away not too soon afterwards, and though he _was_ a bit disappointed in it ending, he knew it was for the better, as he'd really not like his first time to be in such a public area. She landed on her feet again, having spent the time on the tips of her toes, only serving to remind him of what he'd mistaken thought to be the motive for inviting him in.

"Shit, Lily. Don't tell me you were kissing me en pointe."

She beamed at him, and, as if to spite him, she stood up on the tips of her toes once again, before blinking innocently at him. "Will you threaten me with a foot massage if I _do_ tell you such a thing?"

"You know, most people would _delight_ in getting a well-deserved massage."

"Then, you classify me as most people?"

"'Course not. You're special, if you couldn't already tell."

"I was talking about the human bit," she said with lighthearted scorn.

"Ah, right, my mistake. How could I forget you're an angel?"

She blushed a pretty red, nearly akin to the color of her hair, and he took her previous spot on her seat. "You're quite the bold one to sit down when preaching about foot massages."

"Not preaching anymore," he pointed out, with a matter-of-factly tone.

"Well, in that case, I'd best sit down too, don't you think?" she replied, "I think I should acquaint myself with your lap, if you don't mind."

With that, she propped herself on his _lap_ , like it was an everyday activity, like a pastime, and he been quite taken aback by her blatancy, but honestly, he was _not_ complaining. She pulled her shoes off and placed them on the floor, wiggling her toes in their newfound freedom, before wrapping an arm around his neck, pursing her lips at him.

"I think we're far enough in our relationship for me to be able to do this," she told him, her legs dangling over one side of his own. He clapped a securing arm around her back, to keep her from falling over and to nudge her closer to him, because he was a human who craved physical intimacy as much as the next person did.

"Yeah? I haven't asked you out yet."

"Well, get to it," she mumbled, her head pressed to his chest, "You still smell nice. Better, maybe."

He chuckled at her, cupping her face gently as he looked at her earnestly, "Lily Evans, will you bear the privilege and occasional burden of being my girlfriend?"

She tilted her head at him in mock contemplation, before saying, "It depends, honestly. Will you give me a foot rub if I say yes?"

"I've been offering that _without_ the prerequisite of being in a relationship with me," he replied in exasperation, and she mockingly rolled her eyes at him.

"Which was exactly why I've bribed you with that. I'd quite like to be with you, and I'd also quite like a foot rub."

"You know, most people just answer with simple yes or no."

"I thought we've established that I'm an angel and not a person?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

"You got me there," he smiled, tapping the crown piece on her head, "Do you blame me? You bloody look like one and everything with your outfit."

"With _only_ my outfit? And not my actual features?" she teased him with a playful expression, but it soon turned into surprise as he caressed her cheek. He chuckled, shaking his head at her.

"You're beautiful, Lily. _So_ beautiful," he told her earnestly, reaching down to press a short, sweet kiss against her lips.

"You're stalling," she accused him, amusement in her tone.

"Stalling?"

"I'm still waiting on my foot rub."

He burst into laughter, and she joined him, although his hands _did_ trail down her legs, stopping at her feet, more for emphasis than anything else. He crashed his lips down onto hers again, because they were _young_ and had all the seclusion they needed. Interruptions would not happen all that soon, and they had so much time in the world to do whatever their hearts were telling them to do.

They had been found by their families in the dressing room nearly thirty minutes later, caught doing things _other_ than dressing, quite the _opposite_ of such if one counted James removing Lily's tights so that he had better access to the points on her feet. He would have been surprised had he _not_ expected this to happen.

For her, he'd give her all the foot rubs in the world, so long as they made her happy and relieved her of as much pain as he could possibly get rid of.

And Lily very much enjoyed the foot rubs and the times they spent together afterwards.

* * *

also amelia and her little boyfriend came in holding hands. i just didn't know how to incorporate that into the story without shifting the focus away from james and lily!

find me on tumblr lovesickjily :))


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